


Feeling Alive Again

by teenage_hustler



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 16:36:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15004955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenage_hustler/pseuds/teenage_hustler
Summary: Hermione goes to the library every afternoon, and does nothing while she is there but stare out the window. It is Pansy, of all people, who figures out what is wrong with her.I wrote this for 2011's Femmefest exchange on Livejournal. Get ready for Hermione to work out that she's gay and into Pansy!





	Feeling Alive Again

_Several studies have shown that Hippogriff tail feathers make for better quills than standard eagle feathers, mainly as a result of their remarkable sturdiness…  
  
Several studies have shown that Hippogriff tail feathers make for better quills than standard eagle feathers, mainly as a result of their remarkable sturdiness…  
  
Several studies have shown that Hippogriff tail feathers make for better quills than standard eagle feathers, mainly as a result of their remarkable sturdiness…  
  
Several studies have…_  
  
Hermione closed her book with a forlorn sigh. Every day, since the start of term, it had been like this. She would go to the library after lessons, as she had always done in preceding years, and attempt to study. The key word being ‘attempt’, because she was rarely able to last for more than half an hour before the sentence she was reading would start to repeat itself, and she knew that any further struggle to persevere would be in vain.  
  
She had never had trouble studying before. Nothing that had lasted for over a day, anyway. She knew that she should study. It was starting to become evident in class that she was not keeping up with her reading as she had in previous years. She no longer had the answer to every single question a teacher posed, and she was no longer able to enter classes confident that she already knew and understood whatever was going to be taught that day. Her grades had also begun to slip.  
  
While Hermione knew that this should be bothering her to quite an extreme extent, she found herself mostly unfazed by it. A small part of her was annoyed about her clear lapse in self-discipline, but mostly she just felt tired. Tired, and bored, and maybe a touch frustrated as well. Despite being unable to study, she continued to come to the library every afternoon, and she had no honest idea why.  
  
That day, after Hermione closed the somewhat worn library copy of  _The Magical Properties of the Humble Hippogriff_ , she rested her chin on her cupped hands and turned her gaze towards the window. It had been a relatively cloudy day, and Hermione noticed that the clouds were starting to take on the ominous dark gray colour that indicated forthcoming rain. She smiled at the thought. She had always been more of a fan of rainy weather than the seldom-seen sunny weather for which Britain was generally not noted. Thunderstorms were a particular favourite of hers. Something about the deep rumbling and loud clapping of the clouds excited her. It looked as though the evening’s rainfall would probably be quite sedate, which she supposed also worked for her. It was not as exciting though.  
  
Hermione would probably have quite happily watched the clouds for a considerably long time, had she not suddenly received an aggressive poke on the shoulder.  
  
“Ouch,” she said, looking up. “Parkinson?”  
  
Pansy Parkinson stood before her, hands on her hips, the trademark Slytherin smirk on her face. Ron had often said that he swore the Slytherins must have special smirk-mastering lessons during first year, because they all seemed to be able to pull that face on call. Hermione couldn’t help but smile at the thought.  
  
“Something funny, Granger?”  
  
Hermione blinked, and focused her attention back on the girl before her. She had noted for some time now that Pansy seemed to have decided to sport the increasingly popular “two sizes too small” look for their optional eighth year. Her jumper clung to her body as though she was the last remaining source of oxygen within the jumper’s reach for some miles, and her skirt teetered dangerously close to the “I might as well be underwear and have done with it” stage of shortness. Pansy’s face, Hermione noticed, was made up just enough to hide any residual pug-like features that had remained from her childhood, and her hair, which had grown, now fell to just below her shoulders in thick, black, silky waves. Hermione couldn’t lie; she had often wondered what it would be like to have hair that manageable.  
  
“No, nothing’s funny,” she said, before turning away. “What do you want, Parkinson? I’m studying.”  
  
“With a closed book?” Pansy asked, tapping the cover of  _The Magical Properties of the Humble Hippogriff_  with one carefully manicured fingernail. “Good luck with that.”  
  
Hermione made a mental note:  _If I don’t want people bothering me, I need to put up a better studying façade._  
  
“Anyway,” Pansy continued, “There’s an over-17’s party happening this Saturday night. I’ve been put on invitations duty for some reason, and since I can’t be arsed to write an invitation out and Copy Charm it to thirty-odd pieces of parchment, I figured I could give this fabulous body a workout and hand out the invitations orally. Merlin knows it’s about time my mouth did something other than suck—“  
  
“All right, I get it!” Hermione blocked her ears. According to popular rumour, during Hermione’s absence last year Pansy had developed quite a favourable reputation amongst the appropriately-aged (and possibly not-so-appropriately-aged) male population of Hogwarts. Hermione was not one for gossip, and thus did not know the full extent of the rumours, but she knew enough to know that it was imperative for her own sanity that Pansy did not finish that sentence.  
  
“…lollipops.”  
  
Hermione blinked, twice, and uncovered her ears. Upon glancing back over at Pansy, she could see that the smirk had returned at full wattage.  
  
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Granger. Eighth year common room, 7pm.”  
  
With that, Pansy turned on the heel of her surprisingly sensible school shoe and exited the library. Hermione watched her go, wondering if “lollipops” could be a code word of some sort.  
  
~*~  
  
“Hermione?”  
  
“Hmm?” Hermione looked up from her chicken soup. “Oh, hi Ginny.”  
  
“Hi.” Ginny slid into the seat next to her. “What were you thinking about?”  
  
“Erm…” Hermione looked back at her soup. “Actually, I was making patterns with the bits of carrot in this.”  
  
“I see.” Ginny frowned. She looked worried. Hermione was about to ask what was wrong, but as soon as she opened her mouth Ginny seemed to shake herself off and pull a similar bowl of soup towards her.  
  
“How was Quidditch practice?” Hermione asked.  
  
“It was all right.” Ginny shrugged. She was considering the variety of bread rolls in the basket in front of her. “I can’t say I appreciated it when it started to rain, but we managed to have a decent session. It’s kind of weird being on a team without Harry and Ron though. We’re missing Harry’s talents in particular.”  
  
“I’m sure,” Hermione nodded. “I still think they should have come back here.”  
  
“Just like I still think they would still violently disagree with you… still.” Ginny selected a crusty white roll and started breaking it open with her fingers. “So, did you hear about the over-17’s party?”  
  
“Mmm.” Hermione looked back at her bowl of soup. She wanted to continue finding constellations in it. She had just about nutted out a full image of the Battle of Waterloo in there before Ginny had interrupted her. “Parkinson told me.”  
  
“Yeah, she came during practice to tell us. I swear, she fails any attempts at subtlety with that skirt she wears. How have the professors not called her out on it yet?”  
  
“She may have charmed it to appear longer?” Hermione suggested. She cast her eyes across to the Slytherin table, and after some roaming found Pansy, facing away from her and talking animatedly to a seventh year Slytherin boy. As she talked, Hermione saw Pansy swinging her legs over the bench and crossing them. Now Pansy’s legs, barring the very small portion at the very top covered by her risqué skirt, were in Hermione’s full view, and it certainly seemed as though the boy Pansy was talking to appreciated this new addition to his view. While Pansy was a relatively pale person, her legs were not of the ghostly practically translucent hue that would be expected on the legs of a pale person. Perhaps she darkened them with a mild Tanning spell or something, because her legs were a light beige colour, and from where Hermione was sitting they looked smooth and shapely without seeming artificial or chunky. Pansy clearly knew how to look as attractive as possible for whomever she wished to entice. The rumours had some merit, it seemed.  
  
“Hermione!”  
  
“Huh!” Hermione jumped, startled. Ginny had practically yelled in her ear.  
  
“Finally! What were you thinking about this time?”  
  
“I…” Hermione looked back at Pansy. The boy she had been talking to was now standing, offering her his hand. She flicked her glossy hair over her shoulder, laughed and stood up, with his help. Hermione turned away as they left the Great Hall. “Nothing in particular,” she answered Ginny.  
  
Ginny pursed her lips, looking either annoyed or thoughtful, or maybe a mixture of both. “Right. Well, do you think you’ll go to this thing?”  
  
“I suppose,” Hermione shrugged. “I don’t expect it will be very interesting, though.”  
  
“That’s what Firewhiskey is for,” Ginny informed her. “Why else do you think this would be an over-17’s affair?  
  
“Fair point,” Hermione acquiesced. “In that case it would be right up Harry and Ron’s alley, wouldn’t it?”  
  
“Oh, that reminds me. I got an owl from Harry this morning. They’re having fun in France, but the training is tough. Ron wanted me to say hi to you. He says he misses you. A lot.”  
  
“Mmm.” Hermione was not listening particularly attentively. Her soup had gotten her attention again. “I really should write to them both at some point.”  
  
“Probably,” Ginny agreed quietly. If she had sounded doubtful, Hermione did not register it.  
  
~*~  
  
It took about five minutes after the party had officially started for Ginny to declare herself ready.  
  
It took about fifteen minutes after the party had officially started for Ginny to actually be ready.  
  
It took about twenty minutes after the party had officially started for the pair of them to arrive at the same common room in which Hermione spent most of her evenings.  
  
It took about half an hour after the party had officially started for Hermione to start wishing she could leave.  
  
She had to appreciate the efforts to which her fellow eighth years seemed to have gone. Streamers of just about every colour in the visible spectrum had been strung from corner to central chandelier to opposite corner. Balloons littered the ceiling and floor. Plates of snacks adorned the tables to such an extent that Hermione could practically hear the tables straining. Care had been taken to make sure that every guest had some sort of drink, and that each guest knew where they could acquire more of their preferred beverage should they require it.  
  
It was, in all reasonably objective senses of the word, a good party. The question was how many people would remember it.  
  
Hermione was hardly one for heavy drinking, and it was quickly becoming clear to her that she was in an absolute minority. Everybody around her was drinking, and considering how inebriated several of her classmates already appeared to be, she was prepared to guess that many people hard started drinking well before the party had started.  
  
_How economic of them_ , Hermione thought, bizarrely, to herself.  
  
She was fairly sure that she did not want to spend the night sitting around watching a bunch of drunken teenagers stumbling around, trying to make out with each other and probably missing. She rationalised that if she escaped to her room and put an Imperturbable Charm on the door or something, the room would be quiet enough for her to spend the next few hours alone with her thoughts before settling down to sleep at around 10 or 11.  
  
It sounded like a plan. Hermione stood up and started picking her way through the balloons and giggling bodies, heading towards the main stairs. She was almost there when suddenly her way was blocked by a wall of flesh (covered quite tastefully, considering how little of it was actually covered) and the smell of green apples.  
  
“Granger,” the flesh said, until Hermione looked up and saw that the semi-covered body belonged to Pansy. “You wouldn’t happen to be going somewhere, would you?”  
  
“It’s none of your business,” Hermione replied, “but if you must know, I’m heading to my room.”  
  
Pansy raised her eyebrows. “Really? Well, that’s quite interesting, because the last time I checked the party was in here.” She waved the hand not holding a paper cup vaguely towards the cacophony of shouting, giggling, drink-pouring youngsters in the room.  
  
“I am aware,” Hermione said tiredly. “I don’t want to stay here. I’m not in the mood for a party.”  
  
Again, Pansy raised her eyebrows. “I highly doubt that. I think that if we get a few drinks into you you’ll be more than happy to stay here until the early hours of the morning.” She handed Hermione the paper cup. “Drink this.”  
  
Hermione took a careful sniff of the cup’s contents. Some kind of apple-flavoured mixer, she guessed. Relieved though she was that Pansy was not attempting to give her straight vodka and gin, she was hardly going to bow to the requests of Pansy Parkinson. She passed the cup back. “I’m not much of a drinker,” she said quietly.  
  
“No shit,” Pansy said, her tone severe enough to cause Hermione’s eyes to widen in shock.  
  
“There’s no need to be rude,” Hermione reprimanded her. “I’m only telling you the truth.”  
  
“Yeah?” Pansy asked, cocking her head to the side. “Well then let me tell you something truthful as well. You need to loosen up.”  
  
“What?” It was Hermione’s turn to raise her eyebrows, although she was bound to admit that she couldn’t do it with nearly as much scornful gusto as Pansy could. “I need to do no such thing.”  
  
“Like hell you don’t,” Pansy disagreed. “I’ve seen you around, you know. You’re not the only person that goes to the library. I know you go there every afternoon. But you’re never doing anything. What’s up with that, Granger? Have you changed since the war? Are you through with being a Know-It-All, but too afraid to rid yourself of the reputation?”  
  
Hermione said nothing. Pansy took the opportunity to push the cup into her hand once more.  
  
“You’re young, Granger. You don’t need to be so serious, all the time. Stop acting like your grandmother, for once, and loosen the fuck up.”  
  
At that, Pansy walked away. Hermione watched her go, somewhat intrigued by how her hips swayed ever-so-slightly under the denim skirt she had donned for the evening. To this skirt’s credit, it was slightly longer than her uniform. But not by much.  
  
Hermione looked away from Pansy and considered the cup in her hand. Bizarre though the very idea was, maybe Pansy was right. Maybe she did need to loosen up a little. At any rate, Hermione thought as she raised the cup to her mouth, it couldn’t hurt, right?  
  
~*~  
  
Several hours, and more than a few apple-flavoured beverages later, Hermione was feeling much more enthusiastic about the party. She had been wrong, she now realised, to judge this party so harshly. It really was pretty fun. She for one had never before known how funny it was to watch people trying to high-five each other and miss. Constantly. It was even funnier when she tried to do it herself.  
  
After she was forced to admit that her impromptu quest for a high-five was in vain, she decided that it might be nice to take a seat. She found an unoccupied lounge at one corner of the room and, after a few failed attempts, managed to slump onto it. She had never sat there before, and she supposed it was a good thing, because the seat seemed uncommonly difficult to sit on. Perhaps somebody should be informed of this?  
  
“Hermione!” called a voice.  
  
Upon looking up, Hermione noticed Ginny walking towards her. Hermione felt dizzy with excitement at the prospect of talking to her friend, and beckoned Ginny to come as quickly as she could. Ginny ran the last few steps and tried to give Hermione a hug but seemed to miss, as the next few seconds were occupied by them untangling themselves from each other, while trying to contain their giggles.  
  
“Hey! You know!” Ginny said, a few decibels higher than was probably necessary, “I got another owl from Harry this morning!”  
  
“Really?” Hermione yelled back, equally loudly. “Was it nice?”  
  
“Yeah. They had the day off, apparently. Went to the beach. Ron sends his love to you.”  
  
“Do I have to send mine back?” Hermione asked.  
  
“Not if you don’t want to.”  
  
“Good!” Hermione flopped back on the lounge. “Because I don’t love him.”  
  
“I see.” Hermione, suddenly quite preoccupied with the contours of her right hand, didn’t notice Ginny’s voice get softer. “Why not?”  
  
“I dunno,” Hermione shrugged. “He’s lovely, and everything. And I still wanna be his friend. But I don’t feel that way about him.” It hit Hermione, then, what she was saying. It was something she had not thought about, but there was no doubt in her mind that it was entirely true. She blinked a few times, and looked back at Ginny.  
  
“I don’t think I ever have felt that way about him,” she said, bowing her head. “I’m sorry, Gin.”  
  
“It’s all right.” Ginny laid a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “To be honest, I think I’ve seen this coming for a while.”  
  
“Really?” Hermione asked. “Why?”  
  
“Well, um…”  
  
“Hey! Everyone!” A solidly-built seventh-year, currently standing on one of the tables that had been laden with food, addressed the entire room. Hermione looked away from Ginny, curious about this lad’s next words. “Why don’t we engage in an old Muggle favourite?” He held up an empty wine bottle. “Who wants to play ‘Spin the Bottle’?”  
  
It sounded like a fantastic idea to Hermione, which she supposed was weird, considering how she normally considered the game to be tacky. Nevertheless, she jumped right up and shouted “Me! Me! Me!,” nearly knocking over an unfortunate lamppost that had happened to be in the way in the process. Many others shared her enthusiasm, and soon a group of them sat in a circle, the bottle in its centre.  
  
Watching random people kiss, Hermione soon realised, was even more hilarious than watching failed attempts at high-fives. People who were normally quite bold suddenly became uncommonly shy when asked to kiss somebody to whom they had perhaps not spoken much before. What was especially funny was when two boys had to do it. Most of them were incredibly embarrassed, but once or twice the two boys would really go for it, and the ridiculousness of it was so absolute that before long Hermione’s stomach was aching from laughing so much.  
  
When it was Hermione’s turn, she was so excited at being allowed to spin the bottle that it did not occur to her what she would have to do after the bottle was spun. She watched the bottle rotate, quickly at first but before long slowing down, down, until it landed on somebody sitting somewhere opposite her. A smooth, raven-haired, tastefully-if-skantily-clad someone…  
  
Pansy Parkinson looked up, and as their eyes met, Hermione suddenly remembered the rules of the game.  
  
She gasped, and stared at Pansy in horror. Was she … did they expect her to … with  _Pansy_? Hermione looked at her, expecting her to decline, or at least jump up and say that there was no way on Merlin’s Great Green Earth that she was going to suck face with that loser. Surely Pansy was going to do something like that?  
  
But Pansy did no such thing. Instead, she glanced around the circle, where everybody was looking at her in eager anticipation. She then smiled, and slowly began to crawl towards Hermione. Hermione stayed where she was, unable to move. Pansy reached her, and before Hermione’s mind could compute that this was actually going to happen, Pansy’s lips were on hers.  
  
Hermione could hear the whoops and cat-calls surrounding her, and for the first second or so her brain seemed to freeze. But then the tingling started, going from where their lips connected, through her oral cavity and into her cranium, and her brain seemed to liquefy. Her thoughts, her rationality, her reason – all of those left her, and all she felt was Pansy’s soft, well-cared-for lips gently massaging her own. One pale hand then came to rest on her cheek, and Hermione’s baser instincts took over. Now she was going by feel, and what she was feeling, at that moment, was good. And so, she hesitantly pushed back on Pansy’s lips, trying to equal her…  
  
And then it was over. Pansy pulled away, shot her the trademark Slytherin Smirk, and returned to her position.  
  
“So,” yelled the same stocky lad who had suggested the game in the first place, “who’s next?”  
  
~*~  
  
Hermione spent Sunday nursing one of the biggest headaches she’d ever had in her life. She went to the Great Hall twice to procure food, but other than that she remained in her room, sitting cross-legged on her bed, staring out the window. Someone knocked on her door once or twice. She ignored them. She tried to read a book at one point, but barely got through two sentences before the words started repeating themselves. She sighed and put the book down. Maybe she did not like reading any more either. She barely thought about last night. It was done, after all. It was not as though she was going to do anything like that again. At least, not with Pansy Parkinson. The matter was irrefutably closed.  
  
~*~  
  
On Monday morning Hermione arrived at the breakfast table relatively early. Taking a contemplative bite of toast, she propped  _Hogwarts, A History_ , one of her all-time favourites, on the closest pumpkin-juice jug. She opened the book and started to read…  
  
And lasted maybe five minutes this time. She could not be entirely sure of the exact timing, but when she found that she had read the sentence  _Hogwarts was built at a time of great wealth and prospect amongst Wizardkind_  no less than ten times, she thought it probably best to give up. With an all-too-common defeatist sigh, she picked up the book and placed it in her bag.  
  
“Still can’t read?”  
  
Hermione looked up. Ginny had just arrived, looking slightly the worse for wear. This was not particularly unusual – Ginny was not, and never had been, much of a morning person.  
  
“No,” Hermione answered, turning her attention back to her toast. “Maybe I should give up the attempt? I don’t know.”  
  
“I wouldn’t do that just yet,” Ginny advised, sliding onto the bench. “This is probably just a phase you’re going through. You’ve always been a big reader, after all.”  
  
“Maybe.” Hermione shrugged.  
  
She felt Ginny shuffle slightly in her seat. “So, Saturday night…” she started.  
  
“What about it?”  
  
“Well… what did you think? Did you enjoy yourself?”  
  
“Yeah.” Hermione nodded, still looking at her toast. “It was fun.”  
  
“Okay…good.” Ginny’s fingers drummed the wooden table. A nervous habit, perhaps, Hermione thought. Was Ginny nervous?  
  
“Did you have fun?” Hermione asked.  
  
There was silence for a moment, and then Ginny answered with “I did. I quite enjoyed the, er… spectacle.”  
  
“There was a lot to see,” Hermione agreed.  
  
Ginny did not reply.  
  
~*~  
  
That afternoon Hermione dragged herself to the library, just like any other day. She sat at her usual table and made to open her bag, then paused. Why bother? She thought to herself. It’s not as if I’m going to study.  
  
So instead she sat and looked out the window. It was another cloudy day, but the clouds were not looking so dark. Perhaps they would develop and there would be some rain tomorrow, Hermione mused. That would be nice.  
  
She was not sure how long she was there. It was amazing how time seemed to go by, even when she was not doing anything. She supposed that, before now, there had not been many moments of ‘doing nothing’ in her life, so she would not have known about the passage of time in such moments.  
  
She eventually decided that she might as well leave. As she stood up and reached for her bag, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning around, she locked eyes with Pansy.  
  
Hermione could not have predicted that she would react to seeing Pansy again, after Saturday night, in the way that she did. She gasped, and her heart rate suddenly increased. She could feel adrenalin starting to pump through her veins, as though her body was preparing itself for the fight-or-flight response. After spending several months in a lethargic state, Hermione had to admit that it felt pretty good, becoming energised and feeling ready for battle, however proverbial the battle might be.  
  
“What—“  
  
“Shh!” Pansy quieted her. She took Hermione’s hand (a bizarre action in itself, Hermione thought) and pulled her away from her table. They walked (although the more appropriate verb might just have been ‘sprinted’) through the library, finally arriving at some seldom-used shelves that were dusty enough to provide problems for every asthmatic on the planet for several years. Before Hermione could ask what they were doing here, Pansy had pushed her against one dusty shelf, taken her face in her hands and kissed her.  
  
‘Surprised’ did not begin to cover Hermione’s initial reaction. However, the very small part of her brain that was not completely flabbergasted offered her some comfort.  _Don’t worry,_  it seemed to say.  _You aren’t smashed beyond reason this time. It is well within your power to push her away_. That was comforting news, indeed.  
  
But when, after several moments, she still had not pushed Pansy away, it occurred to Hermione that she probably was not going to. She could smell Pansy’s slightly floral shampoo, and her lightly-spritzed, equally floral perfume. She could feel Pansy’s breasts, firm and round without being enormous, against her own. Everywhere their bodies touched felt warm, soft… different, to how the likes of Viktor or Ron felt. But it was a  _good_  kind of different, and Hermione realised, with some trepidation, that she liked it. The blood kept pushing through her veins, energising and exciting her, making her feel more alive, more like how she used to be, before the war had ended. She wanted to feel alive again. She started kissing Pansy back, and this time there was no hesitation. In fact, before too long it almost felt like she had taken over the kiss.  
  
It was Pansy who finally ended it, and even then it was only when they both started needing air. She took a step back, dragged the back of her hand across her mouth, and smirked.  
  
“I knew you wanted me,” she said.  
  
Hermione blinked. “Sorry?” she asked. “I just… I just liked the feeling. It’s nothing to do with ‘wanting’ you.”  
  
“Yes it is,” Pansy disagreed. “I can tell. Body language. Heat.” Pansy glanced downwards, and Hermione, despite being fully clothed, was hit by a strong urge to cover herself. She could feel her cheeks burning.  
  
“See, here’s the thing,” Pansy continued. She stepped forward again, breaking into Hermione’s personal space. Hermione resisted the urge to push her away. It was strange that she should feel awkward about her closeness, considering how they’d practically been sucking each other’s faces off barely a minute previously. “I think I know why you hide here every day. I think you’re scared. You’re scared, because you’re changing. Your body, and your mind, they’re starting to realise who you are now; that you’re something that you don’t want to admit to yourself.”  
  
“What?” Hermione asked, confused. “That I’m not a bookworm?”  
  
Pansy huffed, and Hermione was fairly sure that she heard her tutting like an elderly woman. “No. I think you’re as much of a bookworm as ever, really. You’re just distracted, and frustrated. I think you’re realising that you’re gay.”  
  
That stumped her. Despite these encounters with Pansy, that possibility had not even entered Hermione’s radar. “What?” she said, truly confused now. “I’m not gay.”  
  
“Like hell you’re not.” Pansy’s eyes turned angry then, and she pushed into Hermione more. The bookshelf dug into her back.  
  
“Don’t kid yourself, Granger,” Pansy said. Her voice was quiet, but dangerous. “I’ve talked to the She-Weasel. She’s been insanely worried about you. She told me you’ve not been responding to the Boy-Weasel’s advances for a while. She even thinks that you don’t like him in that way. Me, on the other hand… I’ve seen you looking at me. You watch me. Your eyes linger over my chest, my legs, my hips. Not that I think you’ve been trying to be discreet, but you’re utterly crap at being discreet all the same. It’s time for you to face facts, Granger. You’re gay, and I’m pretty sure you want me.”  
  
She would not listen to this. It was utterly absurd. “I’m not … and I don’t …”  
  
“It’s okay, you know,” Pansy interrupted. Her voice was still dangerous, but it was a different kind of danger. It was … sultry. “I want you too. I’ve wanted you for ages. Don’t believe the rumours you’ve heard about me. Sure, all the boys may want me, but every time I display my legs, or sway my hips, it’s all for you, Granger.”  
  
Hermione frantically shook her head. “But,” she tried once more, “I don’t…”  
  
She trailed off, staring, wide-eyed, at Pansy. Pansy smiled, and took a step back. Hermione shifted carefully. Her back was probably going to be sore after this.  
  
“Here’s my proposition,” Pansy said. “After class tomorrow, you have two choices. Either you can go to the library as always, and waste three hours staring out the window, pretending that you are the same as you have always been. Or you can go back to your room. If you do that, I will be there. And I might not be wearing most of my uniform.”  
  
A small sound escaped Hermione’s mouth. Pansy’s smile turned into the Slytherin smirk.  
  
“It’s your choice.”  
  
And then, she was gone.  
  
~*~  
  
“Hermione?”  
  
Hermione, who had spent the last five minutes wondering how she was going to eat the chicken leg in front of her (eating with fingers would result in more chicken being consumed, but it was far messier), looked up.  
  
“Are you all right?” Ginny looked down at her, forehead creased with concern.  
  
“I’m fine,” Hermione said, offering Ginny a smile. “Why would something be wrong with me?”  
  
“Well,” Ginny said, “for one thing, you served yourself tomatoes in that salad on your plate. You hate tomatoes. And for another, you’re not fine. You haven’t been fine in months.”  
  
Hermione frowned, turning back to her plate. “Parkinson told me that you’ve been speaking to her.”  
  
“Yes, I have.” Ginny sat down and took an empty plate. “How did you find out?”  
  
“She told me, this afternoon.” Hermione looked at Ginny. “Do you know what Parkinson said? She said that I’m gay, and that I’m, er, into her. Into Parkinson.”  
  
Ginny nodded, but said nothing; something that Hermione found confusing. Surely Ginny would find it just as ridiculous as she did?  
  
“Can… can you believe that, Ginny? I mean, it’s insane, right? I’ve never even considered the possibility of being gay before.”  
  
“That’s probably because you’ve never had the chance to consider it before,” Ginny spoke up. “Because you’ve been, y’know, fighting a war and stuff. And it was never as if you spent much time with girls, really. But now we’re in a time of peace, and maybe your mind and your heart have the chance to fine-tune themselves, as it were.”  
  
Hermione said nothing.  
  
“Look,” Ginny continued, turning to face her. “I don’t … I have no way of advising you on this. I’ve always been sure of my sexuality. This whole thing might not even be about sexuality, but I think it is. You may not have consciously been thinking about sexuality in itself, but you cannot deny that something has been troubling you for a long-arse time. You don’t study any more, you hardly talk, and you can’t even read, you’re so distracted. You spend all of your time staring out of windows, and you’re never aware of how much time has passed. You’ve become lifeless, and any attempts that I made to mention Ron haven’t registered. The only times you have not seemed lifeless in these past few months, are the times when you’ve been looking at Pansy. When you look at her, it’s like you’re alive again.”  
  
Still, Hermione said nothing. She couldn’t think of anything to say. She had not thought that she spent active amounts of time looking at Pansy. She had not thought that she had been watching Pansy more than she had watched anybody else.  
  
But what was it that Pansy said? About her not being subtle?  
  
And as for feeling alive again … Hermione shook herself. She was alive, for Merlin’s sake. She was breathing, eating, drinking, sleeping, seeing.  
  
Was that the same as being alive, though? And what about that afternoon? Wasn’t that exactly what she had felt, while she was with Pansy? Alive?  
  
Ginny patted Hermione on the shoulder, making her shake herself and look back at her friend.  
  
“I think you’ll get there, eventually. But just … just think about it, okay?”  
  
~*~  
  
_“I think you’ll get there, eventually. But just … just think about it, okay?”_  
  
_Just think about it_? Hermione snorted. She had certainly done enough of that. She had thought all through the night, through breakfast, and through classes. At one point her mind seemed to completely shut down, and she was only able to avoid falling asleep in her cauldron full of Hair Growing Solution by the fact that the aniseed smell of the perfume was so strong that it would just about wake the dead. Thoughts of liquorice only lasted for about five seconds after that abrupt wake-up call before she was thinking about yesterday again.  
  
Now classes were over, and her feet, practically on auto-pilot by now, were moving towards the library.  
  
She stopped in front of the main doors. The entrance seemed so much more ominous today than it had before.  
  
She understood why, straight away. Today, that entrance was a symbol. If she opened the door, she would be how she was now – dull, lifeless, needing to resort to alcohol to feel anything – forever. If she did not open the door, she could escape. She could feel again.  
  
Suddenly, it was as though a bucket of cold water had been poured over her head. She slapped herself, both metaphorically and literally. What the hell was she doing? Why was she here? This was no choice. This was a chance, a lifeline. She was being given a lifeline, and she had been so close to throwing that lifeline away, and for what? Because she was scared to admit it to herself? Because it was Pansy, of all people, who had told her?  
  
Pansy. Hermione pulled her hand away from the library door as though the handle had spontaneously sprouted fangs and was trying to eat her.  
  
Pansy.  
  
Hermione turned and ran.  
  
~*~  
  
Hermione ran all the way back to the eighth year common room, up the stairs, to her room. She had not run since the final battle earlier that year, and when she finally stopped, her heart was hammering in her chest. Her lungs felt like they were on fire, and it felt as though no amount of heavy breathing could get the oxygen back into her system fast enough.  
  
In short, Hermione felt fantastic. And it was only going to get better.  
  
She opened her door, and the first thing she saw was Pansy, in front of her bed, pacing the room. She had pulled her jumper off, loosened her collar and rolled up her sleeves. Her hair looked messy; as though she had been raking her hands through it.  
  
She looked up at the sound of the door opening, and upon seeing Hermione the hand that had been reaching for her hair fell limply to the side.  
  
“Granger,” she said, her voice oddly croaky. “You came.”  
  
“Shut up,” Hermione answered. She closed the door, crossed the room, took Pansy’s face in her hands and kissed her.  
  
It took Pansy approximately one-hundredth of a second to get over her shock. As soon as Hermione felt her starting to kiss back she spun both of them around and pushed her, hard, against the nearest wall. Pansy made a noise of surprise, which Hermione quickly swallowed. She had no patience for surprise right now. She wanted Pansy. She wanted all of her, and she wanted her now.  
  
As they broke the kiss to inhale, Hermione’s hands flew to Pansy’s obscenely tight shirt. She would not have been surprised to hear that she had been sewn into the thing. Unbuttoning it was impossible, and it did not take long for her to moan in frustration, pull out her wand and magic the shirt, and Pansy’s short skirt, away.  
  
Pansy looked down at her now half-naked form, and upon coming back up, treated her to the smirk Hermione had been half waiting for since she’d arrived. “Impatient, are we?” Pansy inquired.  
  
“I thought I told you to shut up,” Hermione replied, stepping towards her again.  
  
“I’m a terrible listener,” Pansy defended, bringing Hermione towards her for another kiss. Now Hermione could feel Pansy’s mostly-naked flesh wherever her hands fell. In the end they landed somewhere around Pansy’s hips, and the feel of her smooth skin was enough to practically drive Hermione insane. She made a noise; something similar to a grunt, or a snort, of annoyance.  
  
Pansy seemed to get the message, because the next new sensation Hermione felt were Pansy’s hands tugging at her jumper. She obligingly lifted her arms up and Pansy pulled it off, throwing it somewhere to the side. Her shirt came next, and Hermione noted with some jealousy that Pansy had no trouble unbuttoning it.  
  
“Well practiced, are you?” she asked.  
  
Pansy, hands now on the zipper of Hermione’s skirt, raised her eyebrows. “Say whatever you want about me, Granger,” she said, pulling at the zipper. Hermione’s skirt fell to the floor. “It’s only going to make me want you more.”  
  
That was it. They claimed each other’s lips again, both seeking for dominance as they stumbled over to the bed. When they landed, Pansy quickly sat on Hermione’s thighs. Her hands landed on Hermione’s still-covered breasts, and as she massaged them Hermione arched her back in pleasure. Their crotches rubbed against each other, and Hermione, for one, could feel the heat coming from her. She couldn’t believe that this was happening, but the time for questioning was long gone.  
  
Pansy wrenched her mouth away. “I’ve gotta say, Granger,” she said, bringing her mouth close to her ear, “I wasn’t entirely sure that you would be this energetic.”  
  
“Weren’t you?” Hermione asked, her hand trailing down Pansy’s back. Her skin was so  _smooth_. It occurred to her that her own skin would probably not feel so satisfying.  
  
“No. But I’m so glad you are. I’d hate to be fucking some delicate flower.” The next thing Hermione registered was Pansy’s teeth sinking, hard, into her earlobe. She gasped, and, surprisingly, rubbed her crotch against Pansy’s thigh.  
  
“Thought you’d like that,” Pansy whispered. Her mouth then clamped down on Hermione’s neck and she was left to squirm, her knickers dampening significantly as Pansy treated her like some delicious lolly she had to taste in every way possible.  
  
Hermione could probably have stayed like that quite happily for some time, but Pansy evidently liked variety in her love-making. Soon her mouth left Hermione’s neck, and before Hermione could uncharacteristically give her a not-so-friendly “what the fuck?” they were kissing again, and Pansy’s hands were wriggling under her in an obvious attempt to undo her bra. Hermione lifted herself up obligingly and used her other hand to undo Pansy’s bra in return.  
  
After their bras had been discarded, Hermione allowed herself a moment to study Pansy’s breasts. It was the first time she had seen a pair that were not her own, and although she was perhaps not so experienced a critic on the matter, she had to admit that Pansy’s were as nice uncovered as they were straining under too-tight school blouses. She’s put Pansy at about a C-cup, and since Pansy was relatively petite in her body composition that C-cup looked quite substantial. She reached out to touch one, marvelling at how different the nipple felt to the rest of the soft flesh.  
  
“Try them,” Pansy said.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Here.” Pansy shifted around her, lying next to her on the bed and pushing her head down slightly. “Suck them.”  
  
Hermione licked her lips tentatively, and in a moment of ridiculousness she realised that it had been eighteen years since she’d done this last. She leaned forward carefully, sticking her tongue out and pressing it against Pansy’s hardened nipple. Pansy smiled, nodding encouragingly, and Hermione felt bolder. She shifted her position, lifting one leg up and over Pansy’s thighs, and sat down. She circled her tongue around Pansy’s nipple, forcing down the smile that threatened to break out at the sound of Pansy’s sigh of contentment. She switched to the other side then, and placed a couple of closed-mouth kisses on Pansy’s other breast before opening her mouth and clamping her lips around the nipple. She trailed her tongue around it for several seconds, and then she started to suck.  
  
“Oh, Merlin!” Pansy gasped. Hermione felt one hand on her back, and the other was trailing somewhere between them, fiddling with the elastic of Hermione’s pants. With what felt like some effort, Pansy finally managed to get her hand inside, and the next thing Hermione felt was one slender finger sliding across her clit. Hermione just about bit down on Pansy’s sensitive flesh, such was her surprise.  
  
Hermione stopped her worshipping of Pansy’s breast just in time to discover that Pansy was trying to pull off her underwear. Hermione sat up and completed the job, throwing them aside and quickly separating Pansy from her knickers as well. Hermione stared, somewhat surprised, at what she saw.  
  
“What?” Pansy asked, sitting up slightly.  
  
“That’s … there’s a lot less hair there than what I’ve got.”  
  
“I kind of thought that would be the case.” Pansy sat up properly and, with gentle force, pushed Hermione back into a lying position. “Luckily for you, I quite like eating out hairy pussies.”  
  
“And just how many have you ‘eaten out’, exact—ahh…” Hermione’s head fell back as Pansy’s hand once again found her clit.  
  
Pansy smiled, and despite her hand remaining where it was – to Hermione’s joy – she soon came into her admittedly limited view. “Let me kiss you,” she requested, not unkindly. “I love kissing you.”  
  
Hermione smiled, nodded, and Pansy closed the space between their lips once more. Hermione’s hands made their way around Pansy’s shoulders, pulling her down so their breasts pressed against each other in a way she found more and more arousing each time she felt it. The appeal of doing anything like this with boys again was currently seriously dwindling. Actually, doing anything like this with any other girl felt considerably unappealing too. She just wanted Pansy now.  
  
Pansy stopped the kiss, her smile now ominous as she slid down, away from Hermione’s view. The next thing Hermione felt was a soft, warm, wet mouth on her right nipple, and she couldn’t have contained her resulting moan if she’d wanted to. It was an amazing feeling, and as Pansy sucked Hermione’s legs spread apart, almost completely of their own accord.  
  
Pansy did not fail to notice this. She stopped sucking, looked over at her and grinned. “Wide open for me now, aren’t you?” she teased. Hermione reddened and tried to shut her legs again, but Pansy quickly laid a hand on each of them, holding them there.  
  
“Can’t jerk you off when you don’t give me access to your fundamentals, can I?” she asked. Hermione would have hit her, but the words ‘jerk you off’ proved too much of a distraction. Her legs relaxed under Pansy’s hold.  
  
Pansy scooted lower, laying gentle kisses down Hermione’s front as she went. She lingered for a moment on Hermione’s navel, dipping her tongue into the tiny crevice and making Hermione squirm in anticipation. When Pansy reached Hermione’s tuft of curls, she wasted no time in brushing two delicate fingers against her clit. Again, Hermione squirmed, thrusting her pelvis against Pansy’s fingers. The next thing Hermione felt were those same two fingers being driven deeply and without subtlety into her cunt. At that, Hermione gave her loudest moan yet, and her hands grasped at her bedsheets as she thrusted again. Pansy then started pulling out and pushing in a repetitive motion, meeting Hermione’s corresponding pelvic thrusts and soon falling into a rhythm. Hermione was finding it harder and harder to control herself. Her moans increased in volume, and Pansy obligingly started moving faster, and after a moment Hermione felt Pansy’s hot, wet tongue massaging her clit.  
  
That was the final push. With one last, loud moan Hermione felt her insides exploding with pleasure. Her back arched almost completely off the bed, her legs spread so widely that it hurt, and she thrust against Pansy’s hand with such frenzied, wild abandon that she could hardly feel Pansy pushing against her at all. She continued pushing, hard and fast, for the entirety of her orgasm.  
  
When the final waves of her climax subsided, she collapsed on the bed. She felt Pansy withdraw her fingers, and before long the raven-haired woman came into view again.  
  
“Liked that?” she asked, smirk on full bore.  
  
“Uh-huh,” Hermione nodded. She grinned up at her. “I guess it’s your turn now, hey?”  
  
“Eh, we can rest for a bit if you want—oh!” Pansy gasped in surprise as Hermione quickly wrapped an arm around her and, with an impressive amount of strength, if Hermione did say so herself, rolled them over. Now Pansy was lying on the bed, her lips puffy and her hair dishevelled. She looked absolutely delicious.  
  
“I admit I don’t know much about this stuff,” Hermione said, dragging her hands down Pansy’s flawlessly smooth stomach. “But I do know this one trick.”  
  
“What’s that?” Pansy asked, looking doubtful.  
  
“Pass me that brush,” Hermione said, indicating a hairbrush on the bedside table.  
  
Pansy handed it over, and Hermione lifted herself off the bed, found her wand on the floor near her skirt, tapped the brush and whispered a few words. She came back to the bed, knelt between Pansy’s slightly spread legs and showed her the Transfigured item.  
  
Pansy raised her eyebrows. “You haven’t got anything bigger?” she asked.  
  
“Very funny.” Hermione spread her legs apart, and with careful aim inserted one end of the item into herself. It took her a while, but soon it was comfortably in, stretching her walls in a way that, to her vague surprise, was making her feel aroused again. She then sidled closer to Pansy, and after some experimentation, found the entrance she was looking for. Smiling down at her, she started to push in.  
  
“Oh, oh Merlin,” Pansy murmured, and Hermione noticed her legs spreading wider. “Merlin that feels … oh…”  
  
Hermione smiled. She felt in-control and wanted. And alive.  
  
Once the item had gone in as far as it would go, Hermione brought one hand down and spent a moment prodding around until she found Pansy’s clit. She took a careful stroke, and if Pansy’s satisfied sigh was any indication, she was granted full permission to carry on. As she stroked, she also thrust against the other woman, as hard as she could.  
  
“Mmm,” Pansy murmured, her eyes closed. “Again, Granger. Do it again.”  
  
Hermione nodded (a pointless action, since Pansy could not see her), and thrust once more. Pansy matched her thrust, her hips lifting off the bed slightly in a somewhat misjudged attempt to make her efforts more potent. Hermione thrust again, and again, and soon enough Pansy was matching her thrusts and they were forming a rhythm once more. Hermione continued to play with Pansy’s clit at the same time, and soon Pansy was gasping as loudly as Hermione had, not too long before. And Hermione found, to her surprise, that she was starting to gasp loudly too.  
  
“Granger,” Pansy said, frantically. “Come here. I want to snog you again. I want us to come together this time.”  
  
“But,” Hermione argued breathlessly, “How will that –“  
  
“Just come here!” Pansy pulled at the hand Hermione was not currently using, and she practically fell over, her head landing somewhere on Pansy’s chest. Pansy lifted her up, and then they were kissing once more, pressing their bodies together and still frantically thrusting their lower halves against each other in an ever-increasingly more frantic fashion. Hermione could hardly breathe, but there was no way she was going to stop this. It all felt too incredible. And then Pansy managed to worm one shaking hand between them, insert it between Hermione’s hand and her cunt, and start furiously rubbing her clit. Hermione let out a shriek of pleasure that was quickly swallowed by Pansy’s mouth. They pushed once, twice, three times more, and then both of them were shrieking in earnest as they came together, in a mess of lips, limbs and unadulterated sensation.  
  
They continued thrusting until they were both satiated. When it was over, Hermione collapsed, completely exhausted, on top of Pansy. The darker-haired woman grinned and wrapped her arms around her.  
  
They stayed like that for a while. Hermione wasn’t counting the minutes. She did not think it was too long, however, before she lifted herself off Pansy, withdrew the item from each of them, Transfigured it back into the hairbrush it once was, and got out of bed.  
  
“Granger,” Pansy mumbled, sounding seconds away from falling asleep. “What in the name of Merlin’s hairy ball-sack are you doing?”  
  
“I’m looking for my bag,” Hermione answered, padding around the room. “Remember that book on the magical properties of the Hippogriff? I want to have a read of it.”  
  
Hermione continued searching for a moment longer, and then suddenly what she had just said hit her with about as much force as most well-aimed Bludgers tended to hit careless Quidditch players.  
  
Reading. She wanted to read again.  
  
She glanced over at Pansy, who was, as usual, smirking. But this time there was an element of warmth to her smirk that Hermione had seldom seen before, but certainly liked the idea of seeing more often from now on.  
  
“Welcome back, Granger,” she said, before collapsing onto the bed.


End file.
